Ice Cream
by PineappleGrenade
Summary: Everyone loves ice cream... But the only problem is getting it without money.
1. Chapter 1

**Ice Cream**

**By PineappleGrenade**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Young Ones, neither do I profit from writing about them, even though I wish I did. Viva El Presidentay!**

It was a typical day in the Young Ones household, birds were singing, papers were being written, and happy little woodland animals were scampering around the kitchen and having a simply lovely time.

"Clear off you bastards!"

An angry shout shattered the peace, and an orange haired youth dashed into the kitchen, brandishing a chainsaw. The happy little woodland animals realised they had outstayed their welcome and scattered out of a convenient hole in the wall into the garden. With a triumphant smirk, the youth, more commonly known as Vyvyan Basterd, dropped the chainsaw to the grimy floor with a clatter.

Vyvyan stared slowly around at the mess in the kitchen, it looked as if the animals had been having quite a party – there was broken crockery, lentils and half a wooden deck chair strewn about the floor. The young punk's face slowly drew into a frown as he also realised the greatest error, there was no food.

"Neil? Neil?! Your hippy friends have eaten all the breakfast… you hippy!" There was no reply, so he went to the fridge and kicked it open with the plan of finding anything labelled 'Rick' and devouring it.

"Good morning Vyvyan!" Came a dopily cheerful voice from the kitchen doorway. Vyvyan stuck his head further into the fridge. "It's a- What are you doing?"

Vyvyan's bestest buddy Rick glared at the half visible form of his house mate, hands going to rest on his hips as he awaited an answer, one snazzily booted foot tapping impatiently. "Well? Have you lost your head?" He grinned and gave a snort at his own wit. "Ha, lost your head… and your head is in the fridge so I can't see it! I don't know how I do it, I'm so funny."

A spiked head of hair emerged from the fridge, framing a scowl. "Shut up, you _girl._ Where's Neil? He should have made the breakfast two hours ago!" The medical student's mildly deranged blue eyes drifted back to the meagre contents of the fridge. A lone something that possibly used to be a tomato stared back at him, not looking hopeful at all.

Before any further argument or discontent could disrupt the peace of the morning, another house mate came to join the group in the ever popular kitchen.

"Mike TheCoolPerson enters the kitchen, freshly showered and feeling good. He strolls across the floor, says 'Good Morning' to the others and… trips over a chainsaw." Mike had indeed tripped over Vyvyan's discarded murder weapon. The self-titled Cool Person picked himself and the chainsaw up, pointing it towards the person that always got pointed at whenever someone needed to be blamed for something blowing up or dangerous happenings happening. "Vyv, I am not the complaining type, I am in fact every woman's type, but why is there a chainsaw lying in the middle of the floor? Someone could trip up on it you know."

"It's Vyvyan's fault." Rick felt it necessary to interject. He was ignored.

"You see Mike," The medical student began; pointing one finger at the man he addressed to emphasize his point. "I _needed_ that chainsaw to chase away the hippies! Hahaha." He felt that final statement had been a particularly strong line of argument, and it seemed to have proved his case to Mike as well, who simply sat down at the table and opened up the newspaper to read it.

"Guys! Guys!" A hippy came stumbling frantically through the back door, looking awfully excited about something.

"Neil! Where's the breakfast?" Vyvyan demanded.

"Um, well, I haven't actually cooked it yet, because I actually have something really important to tell you!" He danced impatiently from foot to foot, hoping against hope that one of the guys would actually listen to something he had to say, instead of dishing out the usual abuse that, as a hippy, he knew it was his place to undertake.

"What? You found out where the shower is?" Rick snorted and gave a grimacing smile, looking around for approval. He received none, although Vyvyan kindly hit him over the head with a cup to reward his comedy efforts.

"No Rick, it's upstairs man. I can show it to you later if you want, but I have something really heavy to tell you first."

"Have you made the breakfast yet?" The punk looked just about ready to put his empty cup to use again.

"Don't you want to hear what I have to tell you?" Neil looked anxiously around at the others, not really expecting an answer in the affirmative.

"No, because you're incredibly _boring_." Rick interjected.

Mike slowly folded up the newspaper and placed it on the table, raising his eyes to the agitated hippy. Pushing his chair back, he rose to his feet and placed his hands in his pockets.

"Let's hear it then, Neil. The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can make breakfast."

"Yeah, okay, yeah, cool." Neil blinked and took a moment to scrape his long dirty brown hair back behind his ears. "Remember how I said the other day that I hadn't seen an ice cream van around here in like a really long time?" He stared haplessly at the blank faces of the others, evidently they didn't remember, but he decided to carry on regardless. "Well I was just taking a walk outside you know, to appreciate nature, and like this ice cream van came past. It's parked outside right now!"

"You're such a _child_, Neil." Rick smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and screwing his nose up in a derogatory manner. "No one cares about ice cream vans anymore."

"I do, virgin, I'm _starving_!" The resident punk exclaimed, searching through the pockets of his jeans for money. Finding nothing except a few pellets of hamster food and a scalpel, he turned to the others and held out his hands expectantly. Neil stared at his empty hands a while, then placed a lentil in them. Vyvyan did the only thing acceptable in such a situation, and smashed a fist down on top of his… friend's head.

"That was really uncool, man…"

"Does no one have any money?" Vyvyan glanced at each of the others in turn, ignoring the uncertain way both Neil and Rick were swaying on their feet. The answer was a unanimous 'no'. He was however, not to be swayed by something as trivial as the lack of money with which to purchase his coveted ice cream. "Well that's okay, because I have a plan."

"You can't have a plan; you need a brain before you can have a plan." It seemed Rick would never get the message about when to shut up.

"Shut up, _virgin._ You don't even have a…" Vyvyan trailed off, thinking he could hear the distinct sound of an ice cream van making its getaway to a tinkling soundtrack of 'Girls and Boys Come out to Play'. "Come on!" He shouted impatiently, snatching up a chair leg from the deck chair that inexplicably decorated the kitchen floor and storming out the back door in his distinctive Frankenstein-style lurch. Intrigued, the others followed.


	2. Chapter 2

They emerged onto the street just in time to see the van disappearing down the road. Vyvyan eyed it a moment, then grabbed Neil by the shoulder and took of in a hurtling sprint, hippy in one hand, deck chair leg in the other – his two essential weapons.

"Oh wow, uncool man, I haven't run since my first year of school." Neil protested weakly.

Vyvyan ignored him and simply ran faster, miraculously catching up with the van. Since it didn't slow down, he launched Neil forwards and let go of him. The unfortunate hippy went sailing through the air like some strange, ungainly bird whose call was "This is just my luck; I never should have gotten out of bed this morning. Why is it always me?" He landed in the middle of the road with a thud, and Vyvyan watched expectantly as his plan came to a head – the front wheels of the van collided with Neil's body, bringing it to an abrupt halt.

"Oh yeah, thanks, thanks a lot Vyvyan, now both my legs are probably broken and I'll never be able to walk ever again." The living road block complained bitterly and was, as usual, ignored.

"What?" A surly, bearded man appeared at the window of the van, his jowls forming themselves into an angry sort of look along with his face.

Vyvyan popped up on the other side of the window with a pleasant grin. "Four of your biggest 99-ers with a flake and sprinkles, a can of Cola, a bag of gummy worms and…" He paused and looked over his shoulder at the approaching Mike and Rick. "…What do you want?"

"How is he going to pay?" Rick wondered aloud and straight into Mike's ear.

"I don't know, Rick, but it seems like our good friend Vyvyan is a man with a plan."

After orders had been made and the consumables handed over, the ice cream man, who vaguely resembled Father Christmas with a killer hangover, demanded payment of thirty-five pounds.

"Fascist!" Rick exploded in self-righteous anger. "Thirty-five pounds for this poxy lot? This is daylight robbery!"

Vyvyan turned to the People's Poet with a sly grin. "Ahaha, you're absolutely right." And with that, he brought the deck chair leg firmly down onto the ice cream man's head, knocking him out cold. Rick let out a panicked cry.

"Well, I've heard of…" Mike began, but before he could finish his much-needed injection of wit, he was hassled away by Rick, Vyvyan following with the ill-gotten loot. Well-gotten loot doesn't seem to be something that happens very often. Somehow, Neil managed to recover from his concussion and possible broken legs, and dragged himself up. Making profuse and anxious apologies to the unconscious man, he hurried after the others.


	3. Chapter 3

Soon enough, the Young Ones were seated in the living room, contentedly devouring their ice creams. Since there wasn't enough room on the sofa, Neil had 'opted' to sit on the floor and was currently occupied with trying to stop his ice cream dripping all over his flares and hand.

"I love ice creams," Vyvyan sighed happily, stuffing as much as he could into his mouth without choking to death. "Reminds me of that time I caught crabs…" Rick, who was sitting next to him, pulled an alarmed face and stood up quickly. "…At the seaside," Vyvyan concluded, not seeming to notice. He looked up with a grin. "They were _huge._ I kept them in a bucket."

"I think I'm going to be sick…" Rick muttered. Being the good friend that he was, Vyvyan quickly relieved his arch nemesis… I mean, _bestest_ buddy of his ice cream, in case the poor anarchist really was sick. He then set about stuffing his acne-ridden face with it.

So, peace and goodwill reigned once again in the house of the Young Ones and all was happy. They had their ice creams and each other, and isn't that all that really matters in life? All there was to shatter the peace of a perfectly lovely afternoon was Rick and Vyvyan trying to kill each other, Neil complaining dejectedly and the blare of the television as Mike tried to watch Postman Pat. Aww… I love a happy ending, don't you?

"Clear off you bastards!"


End file.
